


but your empty eyes seem to pass me by

by areyoumarriedriver



Series: Smut All the Episodes [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy thought Area 52 was the first time he’d seen River since that lakeside in Utah.</p><p>She couldn’t be more wrong, but he let her think it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but your empty eyes seem to pass me by

**_but your empty eyes seem to pass me by_ **

 

Amy thought Area 52 was the first time he’d seen River since that lakeside in Utah.

She couldn’t be more wrong, but he let her think it anyway.

_xx_

When time compressed he awoke with a splitting headache, a useless TARDIS and the memory of a world that would never happen, pounding through his skull. Stupid of him really, in retrospect. He knew – he  _knew_  how stubborn, how like her mother River was. He’d tried giving her a signal, but she was so young and terrified on that beach.

“Stupid,  _stupid_  Doctor.” He mutters to himself as he stands, looking around the interior of the Tesselecta. Everything seemed to still be operational – thankfully because it would be more than frustrating to have spent so long working out a program that allowed him to operate the ship single handedly through a brain interface, only to have it all destroyed in this non-timeline.  He soniced the controls before interfacing with the ship, essentially locking himself in.

His program allowed him to run the ship through what was, essentially, virtual reality. He saw what the Tesselecta saw, he smelled, touched, tasted what the ship did. It had been the only way to ensure no other crewmember was on board, because he couldn’t risk them. In light of these turn of events, he was doubly glad he’d engineered it in such a way, because he would go mad, he thinks, driving it around like it was a boat or car. No, best to lock in and essentially  _become_ the ship during the days. He could come back to the TARDIS and work out a plan, rest and recharge during the nights while he ‘slept’.

The first thing he sees upon activating the ship and opening his eyes are signs warning not to feed the dinosaurs, and he can see Big Ben rising in the distant skyline. London, then, which is very good. He hopes she is nearby, but he cannot be sure.

He hadn’t really  _thought_  about it. About how strong her will was, and how much she loved him and how terrified she must have been, waiting in the deep, cold water of that lake for goodness only knew how long.

He should have told her the truth. But she was so young and still under their control – he couldn’t be positive that she wouldn’t tell them against her own will.

If he remembers the world that wasn’t, she is the other point in time that had been at the center of the explosion. He has to get to her. He has to  _explain_. Not everything – not – not everything because Kovarian and the Silence – they still have their talons in her, and he can’t put her at risk like that. They have to believe he is dead.  _River_  has to believe he is dead. Afterward – afterward he could tell her the truth.

But first, he has to find her. No TARDIS he can use, no useable sonic either, nothing to his name but the ship he exists in.  He grins suddenly, clapping his hands together.

“At least it will be fun.”

_xx_

It takes him three months to track her. He travels across the UK, down to Egypt, through Turkey, up to Russia, Rome, Germany, and back to the UK again. He has nothing to go on but local reports and the faint traces of time energy he can pick up on the TARDIS scanners. Hell, he doesn’t even have a picture to show around, but the description alone does the trick at first, and eventually he gets his hands on some charcoal and parchment and he finds himself spending time every evening, sketching and drawing – her hair is almost murder to replicate in hand-drawn form, but finally he has an image to show people.

An image to keep tucked inside his coat at all times, and image he pulls out far too often to look upon.

He’s drawn her from Demon’s Run. Bright eyes and soft curls and she is smiling – that same smile that haunts his memories every night. One hundred and ninety six years, five months and fourteen days since he’d seen that expression on her face, but he remembers.

He remembers everything. Her especially.

He finally runs into her, completely by accident, in Hyde Park. He knows she’s not been running from him – he doesn’t think she knows well enough to know she  _should_  be running from him.

She is just so damn  _young_. And he smiles to see it, because he remembers the grace she had born his younger self with. Maybe he’s  _still_ young and they have centuries and centuries more once he fixes this. He likes that thought. Her and him, hundreds and hundreds of years.

Every night he thinks of her, her face so full of love at Demon’s Run and it morphs into her crying in a twisted throne of death in the Library.  Every morning he starts searching again and hopes against hope that the Library is forever away for her. Ages and ages and ages hence.

She is walking with Winston Churchill and he swallows, wanting to make a crack about bowties, or something equally corny, because he’d lost his own clothes in Rome, having to switch over to a robe, which isn’t so uncommon now.

Her face lights up when she sees him and he knows – this will be easier than he could have possibly imagined. She is in tall boots, jodhpurs – some things don’t change – and a fitted shirt and she is running toward him, her hair flying behind her, undulating in the wind she is creating with her lithe movement.

He swallows, and something must register on his face because she slides to a halt just feet away from him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Doctor.” She still beams at him and he moves forward with loose ease.

“River,” his voice is grave and the light in her eyes dims as she steps away from him. He curses inwardly – Churchill is making his way over, a full Roman guard behind him and he has to make this quick.  So he smiles, because it is her and he can, and she will thank him for this – in the long run. “Hi, honey, I’m home.” He spreads his arms open wide and she smiles brightly once more, stepping into his waiting arms. Her hand brushes against his waist, and  _there_. He can feel the rush and pull and tug of time, but her eyes widen and he realizes once again – he’s an idiot.

Because she can feel it too.

She jumps back as though burned, and he reaches for her. She is shaking her head, turning on her heel and running, full tilt, screaming for the guards.  He runs after her hopelessly, but the men grab him and restrain him, pulling his arms behind his back and he struggles. Stupid, stupid, stupid – he should have gotten her alone, he should have found a way to pin her down, “River, it’s the only way!”

She is whispering in Churchill’s ear and the Doctor can just make out the dazed expression on the man’s face, and the faint traces of lipstick by the corner of his mouth.

Go figure, he’s been trailing her halfway across the globe, and she’s been arming herself this whole time. “River,  _please_.” He begs but she refuses to look at him and Churchill nods in a daze before instructing his men to take him away.

She doesn’t look back as he is forcibly dragged away.

His own fault really.

He  _had_  to stop underestimating his bad girl.

_xx_

His room in the tower isn’t all bad really. He has a bed- rather comfy – there’s basic facilities, which is nice. No mirrors though, nothing sharp, but the walls are stacked with books upon books covering suspiciously similar topics.  _Time and Relativity_ , and  _The Quantum Time Theory_  and on and on and on.

He gets her unspoken message.

She is looking for a way to fix this that  _doesn’t_  involve him dying.

It’s impossible of course, but he’s bored stiff, so he reads and reads and reads, taking notes, and he draws and draws and draws in his free time, which is in fact,  _all_  of his time.

He draws Gallifrey and the forests, he draws every TARDIS console room he’s ever had, and he draws the TARDIS herself, repeatedly. He draws Susan and Ian, Sarah-Jane and Romana and Ace and Jaime and even a rather good portrait of K-9. He draws Peri and Amy and Rory. Donna and Mickey and Martha, Jack – he even fancifully sketches out a picture of Rose, Jackie, Pete and his human self. He sketches a baby in Jackie’s arms – but he’s not seen the child to know what he looks like. The drawing gets shoved in a drawer though because it feels oddly incomplete and he doesn’t like to look at his human self there. It feels wrong.

But more than anything, he draws River.

He draws her face, full of terror, at the beach in Utah. He draws her smirking at him from across his own TARDIS console. He draws her stretched out and flying through space, he draws her staring at him with a towel over her shoulder and dripping hair. He draws her every which way he can think of.

During the nights, he stretches out on the bed, closes his eyes and shuts the program down, and the feeling is disorienting as he finds himself in the ship. But he likes to visit with the TARDIS, feel her hum beneath his fingertips, whisper to her how she probably could have told him this would happen, but he would fix it. There was nothing sadder than a time machine stuck where time was happening all at once – it was hard on them both.

He spends those nights in their room on his beloved ship. He can still smell her perfume in the air, but it is fading fast, and he lies in their bed, remembering adventures he’s shared with her – they’d run so often together during those two hundred years. He’s shared things with her he never thought he’d ever have at all again. The bed feels empty without her, and it hurts – a constant ache in his chest. But this is better than nothing at all, and he wonders if she’ll ever come to see him, out there.

The day they come in and install heavy shackles, chained and bolted to the floor, he knows she must be coming. The guards shackle him there and bring in a chair, before pulling over his own behind him. He settles down with as much dignity as he can muster – because what else can he do?

This is a battle of words, and it seems achingly fitting for them.

Her hair is down, and she is wearing a loose dress, belted at the waist, with high boots once more. She looks amazing, and he studies her carefully, because maybe, once she’s gone, he’ll draw this too. Like a photograph. She smiles as she sits down, the guards leave and shut the door and she looks over at him, apology written across her face. “Hello, sweetie.”

“River,” he inclines his head and she sighs softly, twisting her hands in her lap. She is nervous.

“I didn’t want this. But I didn’t know – know that we would restart time like that and I can’t let you do that, I’ve not figured everything out yet, Doctor, I need more time.” Her voice is soft and low and his hearts ache at the sound of it, and he cannot find it in himself to be angry with her, because she is doing this for love. He knows that. And he knows that he would do,  _will_  do the same for her one day. When she goes off to the Library. The screwdriver was a stop gap measure, and he knew it then when he uploaded her and he knew it even better now. One day he would take her to towers that sang and he would cry and kiss her goodbye. And then he would not stop tearing this universe apart until he found a way to save her.

It was one thing to stupidly accept her death to preserve their very timeline when he thought her human. But she wasn’t human. She wasn’t Timelord, she was  _both_  and she could have ages and regenerations with him – and he  _would_  find a way to make that happen. So even this young, he was painfully aware of  _why_  she was doing all of this. “Time won’t help River,” His voice is tired and he meets her gaze evenly, “and besides which we haven’t  _got_  any. That’s the point, it’s dying. And I know you can  _feel_  that, all around you – it’s unsettling, it’s sickening. And we’re the only ones who realise.”

She bites her lip, and tilts her chin back. “I’ll think of something.”

“River you can’t-”

“I can and I  _will_. I am  _brilliant_  – and I can  _fix_  this.” Her breathing increases and he can see the film of tears in her eyes and his chest constricts because this wasn’t what he’d wanted. He’d never wanted her to be  _aware_  of what she’d done in Utah.  Been programmed to do. And of course she’d somehow managed to fight even that off. She is right, she  _is_  brilliant.

“Of course you’re brilliant, River. My River – I  _know_. But you have to  _trust_  me-”

“Rule One: you lie.” She recites and he frowns. She licks her lips and his breathing quickens a bit. “I wrote them all down, just like you said, just like you told me to.”

“River,” he breathes her name out like it’s part of the air leaving his lungs, and she straightens a bit more and beams at him. An icy sense of foreboding trickles down his spine. “When did you last see me – before they took you? Before Utah?”

She frowns in confusion and shakes her head. “Berlin – no, not Berlin. The Sisters of the Untempered Schism. You came – after my parents had left, you came and told me I needed time. Because I still – I still wanted to  _hurt_  you then.” She swallows and her fingers play with the hem of her dress, sitting just above her knees.

“So you – you don’t know me. At all.” His voice is incredulous and she sits up and glares at him, and he smiles because  _there_  is a bit of  _his_ River.

“I do know you.” She insists boldly. “I know everything they taught me, every dark, terrible day you’ve ever had. And I know  _all_  of Amy’s – my mother’s stories. Venice, and Starship UK. The Silurians and Van Gogh, pirates and space Florida – the Byzantium.” She points out with a proud smile. “I’m there for that one, evidently.”

“She – that’s spoilers.” He says with a sigh and River grins. “Did she mention the Pandorica too?”

River nods with a grin. “Well she didn’t  _know_  did she?” She shrugs, “And neither did I – not until after Berlin.” She leans forward a bit, her eyes lit up. “But Kovarian was blinded by hate and Amy was blinded by love, so I spent six years in university learning everything I could about you. Not  _just_  you – the Timelords. I wanted – I wanted to understand who I  _was_. Human or Timelord or both or neither. I finally got to make choices for  _myself_  for the first time in my life. And I decided the first thing I wanted to choose was my opinion of you.”

“And what did you find?” His voice is rough and she stands, moving around the room, studying the drawings scattered everywhere.

“I met some of them, you know. Spoke with them. Met a few people who didn’t count you as a friend. I read fairytales and horror stories, fables and tall tales. And do you know what I decided Doctor?” Her fingers trace one picture in particular and she picks it up, turning to face him.

“What?”

“I decided that you weren’t the devil or an angel, you were just a man. A somewhat careless, entirely too reckless man who was selfish, but who learned as he went along. Just like every other man out there.” She shrugs, her eyes dropping to the picture in her hand. “And you’re right – I don’t  _know_  you but I felt something in Berlin – I felt  _you_  not just – not just with my hands but I saw your  _mind_  and your ship showed me  _so much_. I saw the very hearts of you, all that pain and guilt and suffering and joy and love and wonder- and you tell me who wouldn’t look at that and think that is  _amazing_?”

“River,”

“I don’t know you. I’ve hardly spent any time with you, but I know who you are. And I know I will love you someday, and how could I steal that from myself on that beach? I’m sorry, sweetie but I can’t. I couldn’t. And I won’t now – there has to be a way to save you. For her – on that beach. That me that knows you inside and out and loves you just the same way. I have to.” She licks her lips, tears in her eyes and she shakes her head. “Besides which, plenty of time to get to know you now. Not the most ideal of circumstances, given that you’re chained up, but I suppose we can make the best of it.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans forward and he laughs under his breath because of course she’s flirting. Even now. Maybe especially now.

“You can keep that one.” He finally speaks, his voice low.

“It’s not spoilers?” She asks and he shrugs, because it is, in a way. Her hand wrapped around his on his old cradle.

“Not really.” He concedes and she smiles softly looking down at the drawing.

“It’s – is it us?” She asks in an unsure tone and he smiles across at her.

“One day, yes.” She smiles at that and moves over to the door.

“I’ll have them unlock you once I’ve left the Tower. I’m sorry, my love.” She pauses by the door and he stands, chains rattling as he strains toward her.

“Will you be back?” He asks eagerly, because he  _misses_ her – and if this her is all the her that he can get, then he’ll take it. He also knows he needs her to trust him, to  _love_ him enough to let him restart time. He needs this young River to somehow grow into his River and he has to be the one to make that happen, even though he hasn’t the faintest clue how to go about it.

“Would you like me to come back?” She asks him softly and he nods. “Then I’ll be back. Three days time. And...” she glances down at the paper in her hands once more. “Thank you, Doctor.”

_xx_

After that she comes, every three days, like clockwork. He could set a watch by her, but it hardly seems to matter in a world where time passes for no one but them.

At first she just wants to discuss solutions, and he indulges her, going over physics and mathematics and universal possibilities. She asks if he thinks  _everywhere_  in the universe is affected, and he tells her no, but it would be spreading.

They sit over books and notes and finally he gets tired of it all and begins asking  _her_  questions. He asks her everything he can think of – because at this point in her life, he is the one with all the spoilers, and she can answer him anything.

So he asks her about Florida, how she grew up. She sits a bit closer to him – always out of arms reach, though, and tells him sad stories about a man who was driven insane by the Silence, but who sat with her and made mobiles of stars out of cardboard and tinfoil, who took her to the beach, and showed her the ocean, who called her Miss Melody and wore a bowtie and always smiled and told her stories. He tells her that he met him once, but he cannot tell her when. Her eyes light up at that, because she knows that means spoilers and she confesses she would be glad to see him – just once more.

He asks her about how she escaped and how she got to New York and how she got from there to Leadworth. She tells him everything, completely open with him in a way he’s never known her to be before, and he would be lying if he didn’t fall a little bit more in love with this younger version of her because of that fact.

She asks him things too, but not the questions he would expect. She is fascinated by his stories about the Academy on Gallifrey. She listens to him, and doesn’t stop him when he explains how he met his first wife.

She is interested in the people he’s travelled with, more than the ridiculous stories of the things he’s done, though she indulges him and listens to those too. He tells her all the best ones – and some of the worst too, but he tries to be vague about where they scatter across his own timeline, because she is smart as a whip and he knows if he gives too much away she will pinpoint just when he started with her, and when she ends. She somehow has managed to grasp the concept that they are back to front in the most wibbly, yet finite sense of the term. He isn’t sure if she gleaned that from his own mind during Berlin, or from the TARDIS herself, or both, but it’s nothing he’s ever told her.

He watches her when she talks about growing up with Amy and Rory – the time she stole a bus and drove it through the gardens,  her many trips to the superintendent’s office, all the times Amy had picked her up at the police station, yelling at her.

She’s telling him the story of how Amy actually thought Rory was gay when they were younger, and he is smiling fondly, thinking of them.

“I’ve never taken a married couple on board before, did you know that? Before them? Course look what happened, I doubt I ever will again – the universe can only handle one of you, frankly.” He teases her and she grins cheekily.

He’s been locked up for almost four months now. Time still tightens around them and they’ve come no closer to a solution in her eyes, but he can see that he is getting through to her. She knows him now. “I miss them,” she confesses in a small voice. “I’ve been looking, but I’ve not found them yet. Well, I’ve only been looking for Mum really because I know – no matter what – wherever she is, Dad won’t be far behind.” She sounds so absolutely certain of the fact and he stares at her, nodding in agreement. Rory Williams would defy time itself, had done, and would do again, he had no doubt. “It was always so clear to me, when they were younger. How  _absolutely_  he loved her. I would look at him and think – you know, he is so  _rare_. And I thought I would never-” She stops abruptly, shifting in her chair and glancing away.

“Never what?” His hair is longer and hangs in his eyes as he watches her carefully. He’s got a bit of a beard now too, but even though time is moving for them, it is moving much slower than normal. She refuses to answer him and he answers for her, “Never have someone love you like that?”

She looks up and her eyes are bright green as she nods. “I grew up alone. And Amy and Rory – they loved me but in such a long suffering way you know? It wasn’t the same. And other than them – I’ve never had that. And even then, it’s – it’s odd. I love them, but I miss my  _friends_  more than I do my parents.  I’m hardly the lovable type, anyway.”

His hands twitch in his shackles and he longs to reach out and touch her. And he isn’t even thinking about time, or the universe, but he wants to stroke her magnificent hair and brush his fingers along the soft line of her jaw and explain to her that she is miraculous and amazing and he loves her more than most anything in this entire universe. That he thinks in any universe, like Rory, he would not be far behind River Song.  “I wish I could touch you.” The whispered words slip out before he can stop them and she looks up, her eyes dark and green and her breathing increasing as she licks her lips and stares at him.

“How?” She breathes the question out unsteadily. And suddenly the whole atmosphere in the room changes, the air feels thicker, heavier, and he can feel it settling into his lungs, sinking between his hearts, low in the pit of his stomach. “How would you touch me, right now, if you could?”

He swallows and sits up straighter, they’ve been talking for months, he’s been watching her for months, and when she leaves, he is always thinking of her, of what she said, or what she did, or the low tone of her laughter, or how she bites her lip when she is worrying a problem. He’s  _thought_  of her quite often at night, locked in their room in his TARDIS, surrounded by her things. “Well just then I was thinking I wish I could touch your hair,” her hand moves up to her own hair, fingers tangling and dragging through it gently and he suddenly realises just how – just how far this could go. How far would she let him? How far would he  _want_  to? He is arrested by a sudden vision of her, naked and spread across his bed, hair on his pillows and he could  _smell_  her later when he lies down. His mouth waters because he wants it so desperately. Time hangs still and unnatural around him, but it has been for months and he wonders if  _this_ is how he can get through to her. His River has always been so physical, he knows.

Even  _he_  knows that it’s a weak, weak justification for what he’s about to do. “I wanted to brush my fingers against your jaw line,” she follows his words to the letter and he shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. This body feels what he feels, and  _oh_  the sight of her before him stirs his interest. “River?”

“Yes sweetie?” She responds softly and he licks his lips in anticipation.

“Could you – could you go lie in my bed?” She pauses, but doesn’t ask him why, instead she stands, kicking her high heels off and moving past him. He can hear the bed creak as she climbs in and he stands, pulling his chair around with his foot so it is facing the bed. He sits once more and looks at her, hair spread across his pillows and her body stretched out. He smiles, leaning forward. “Do you know why I want you there?” He whispers the question and she looks at him, her eyes dark and heavy lidded.

“Why?”

“It will smell like you. I miss that – the smell of you, you know.” His gaze grows unfocussed as he remembers nights spent wrapped around her older self, her hair tickling his nose. He turns his attention back to her to see her frowning in worry. “What is it?”

“Well, what if I don’t – don’t smell like her? Me I mean, future me. What if it’s all wrong and just makes you miss her more?” Her voice is unsure and he closes his eyes, breathing out before he looks up once again.

“You do smell like you, I know – I can smell your perfume right now. Timelord senses, more acute, you know.  And you  _are_  her River. I don’t  _miss_  you because you are right  _here_.” He speaks calmly, and stillness steals over him as he finally understands. How she had been able to handle his younger self all those years ago. It simply didn’t matter to his hearts – she was River. She was his, even this young. Just like it had never mattered to hers.

Her smile is shy and she moves her hands to the front of her dress, pulling the zip down slowly. His mouth goes dry at the sight of her hands unbuckling her belt, and that zip continuing to get dragged down, revealing her warm, golden skin, inch by inch. Eventually she reaches the hem and her dress falls open, revealing her matching bra and knickers in a lovely amber colour. His tongue wets his dry lips, his eyes dark. “How would you touch me now?”

“River, are you sure? You’ve not – we’ve never done anything like this. For you, I mean.” He just manages to croak the words out and she shifts so she is lying up against the pillows, so she can watch him watching her better.

“Oh believe me honey, if it were an option, I’d climb on top of you right now – this is – this is the next best thing. Tell me. Talk me through it.” She instructs him softly and his breath stutters in his lungs as he watches her.

“Everywhere, when you’re – you’re so lovely, River. I always want to press all of my skin over yours.” She smiles indulgently at that, and shakes her head, her curls bouncing around her face.

“I’m not quite capable of that.” She laughs with her hands laced together over the toned skin of her stomach. He knows how it feels, warm and smooth under his hands, so he’ll start there.

“I’m sliding my hands up over your stomach and ribs,” his voice is low and she complies, unlacing her fingers and sliding a hand along the path he indicated. “I cup your breast, and brush a thumb over your nipple.”  His voice is strained and he shifts as she complies with his instructions, her eyes slide closed and her head tilts back as she arches into her own touch with a breathy moan.

He licks his lips again, swallowing heavily at the sight of her. “I’d – I’d pinch it, roll it between my fingers, and I’d take your bra off.” Her fingers twist and pull, while her other hand slides behind her back, unhooking her bra and letting it slide down her arms. “Oh,  _glorious_.”

She opens her eyes to look at him, heat in her gaze that seems to pour through him, everything is so tightly coiled within him, but he doesn’t want her to stop, not for anything, and he knows it has nothing to do with getting her to restart time and everything to do with his own baser needs. “Will you draw this, later, Doctor?” Her voice is a low hum and he blinks at the – yes, yes he will, he thinks, nodding in agreement. “Good.” She moans the word out, pressing her back into his pillows and watching him. “What would you do now?”

“Taste you.” His voice is hoarse and she brings her hand to her mouth, her full, delicious mouth – he loves that mouth. He loves when it speaks, when it smiles, when it presses into his own. He loves when it is dragged across his own skin, when it wraps around his – she sucks the fingers into her mouth, an obscene representation of his very thoughts and he groans out loud. “Clavicle first, I’d lick along there,” her now wet fingers trail along her collar bone. “Down your sternum, over your breast, I’d suck the tip into my mouth, hold it in my teeth and tease it with my tongue.” She follows his instructions implicitly, pinching her nipple in one hand and flicking at it with her slick fingers. “Oh, god, River I-”

“No, keep going.” Her voice is urgent and she looks at him expectantly. “Keep touching me,  _please_.”

His groin is painfully tight, and he glances down, marvelling at how well this ship responds to his  _every_  thought. He shifts, longing to press his own hands to his aching erection, but the shackles are large and cumbersome, and this isn’t about him. His turn will be later, when he disconnects from the interface – he’d keep the sense of smell though, so he could smell everything that was about to happen here – and lies in their bed, reliving this entire scene. His memory is eidetic and he has never been more grateful for that fact.

“I’d move down, over your stomach, hips, the tops of your thighs. I’d pull your knickers off.” Her hands obey, sliding across her stomach and hips, fingers brushing the tops of her thighs before she hooks them under the elastic of her knickers and slides them down over her shapely legs. She puts them next to her on the bed, and he shakes his head.  “No, I’d throw them.” He grins and she looks at him in surprise, before laughing and tossing them into his waiting hands. The fabric is damp and he can smell to powerful scent of her and he groans again, wishing his hands could reach his face.

“Am I going to get those back?” She asks with a grin, and he chuckles.

“Not a chance.” She laughs as she lays back once more and easing her thighs apart for his view. Thoughts cease as he gazes at her, his eyes hungry and his fingers twisted in the damp silk fabric in his hands. “Oh you beauty. I’d slide two fingers along your slick lips, burrow in and press my thumb against your clit - press it back and forth, hard flicks because you love that.” Her fingers slip through soft curls to slide along her folds, her thumb pressing as requested, but not hard enough, he can tell by her breathy moans and lack of gasps. “Harder than that, River.” He instructs and she looks at him for a moment, before pressing harder and there it is – that breathy gasp that catches in her throat.

“Oh, my – I didn’t know _._ ” She pants out on a moan and he grins, raising his brows at her.

“Well, now you do. I love that sound – I do it over and over to hear it on repeat, in my ear.” And even though he’s simply  _telling_  her this, she does as he says and gasps and gasps for air. “Then I slide two fingers inside, and god, you always feel  _so_ good, River. Like wet silk wrapped all around me, I love the feel of you inside.”

She moans loudly as she curls her fingers down and they slip inside of herself. “Doctor.” She pants out his name and he nods, knowing she is watching him, but he can’t stop staring at what her hand is doing.

“Then I put my tongue there.” She pulls her hand from within herself, and sucks on the same two fingers and his mouth waters. “Oh, you bad girl – but you taste so good, don’t you? I’d lick you up and down, slide my tongue in and out, suck on that tight little bundle of nerves until you’re sobbing my name.” His voice is urgent now, and he leans forward eagerly. “You’re gonna need two hands for this my girl.”

“Oh, god,  _Doctor_.” She is arched back, her chest thrust out and one hand is pinching her clit while the other dips within her folds, her wrist flexing furiously as she reaches for that spot deep within herself, over and over and over.

“Faster, River, harder. Can you feel it building? It always takes you so by surprise, like a tidal wave or a tornado – out of nowhere it’s like you’re just suddenly so high, so high you can’t speak, you can’t breathe, you can’t do anything but wait for the release – and oh when it comes River – you are so gorgeous then, all flushed skin, dark eyes and wild hair, so bloody  _gorgeous_.  _Harder_ , River.” He is speaking fast now, in time to her movements and he is so painfully hard he worries he may just come with her, touching himself or not. She is utterly resplendent, alight with his words and her own feelings, rising within her. “And when you let go River, I want you to scream for me. Just for me – I want it ringing in my ears and echoing of my walls long after you leave, I want to hear it when I get unbound, and I lay exactly where you are laying, and I touch myself in all the same ways. Oh, I may not even need the buildup, the very thought of you – like this, the smell of your sex in the air – I doubt I’d need more than one or two firm strokes to-”

“ _Doctor_!” Her scream is high and strangled as she orgasms, and he can  _see_  it in a way he’s never done before. He can see her swollen sex pulsate and watch the rush of liquid drip down her fingers, fist and wrist, onto the covers of his bed. It is the most erotic thing he has ever seen, and he thinks – once he fixes this time stream the first thing he’ll do is find her, tell her the truth, handcuff himself to their bed and recreate this entire scene, but with her right over him.

They are both breathing hard in the aftermath, and he is still so hard he can feel tears in his eyes. “Oh god, River.” She looks at him in regret, genuine remorse on her face.

Her hands slip from her body and she wipes her fingers on his blankets. “I wish I could watch you too.” She whispers the words, staring at him intently and he fights to keep breathing, because he may just black out. “All undone in front of me.”

“You will, you will, as soon as we fix this – fix time and –”

“No!” She sits up abruptly, pulling her dress closed and zipping it with hands that still shake. He is sad to see her covered up, and she glares at him as she fastens her belt. “That means me killing you and I can’t –  _I can’t_ , please stop asking me to.  _Please_. Not – especially not anymore.” Tears fill her eyes and she takes a deep breath, sliding to the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have – shouldn’t have made you do that for me. That was selfish of me, I’m sorry.”

He opens his mouth to protest but she shakes her head, holding a hand up and shoving her feet back into her shoes before standing. “That was terrible of me, I’m sorry. But I’m – I have to go to Cairo. There’ve been some reports of an anti-Silence movement and I have to check it out.”

“Will you be back?” He whispers the question just like he had that first day and she smiles shakily at him.

“Of course – of course I will. I’ll be back as soon as I can, sweetie. We’ll have dinner.” She promises and he watches her walk to the door, hips swaying and his groin still painfully tight. “I’ll see you then. And I’m sorry, Doctor. It won’t happen again.” She promises before leaving and he wants to cry out, because of course it will – it  _should_. He wants it – if it is all they can have in this wretched farce of a universe, he  _wants_  it.

Ten minutes later his guards unlock him and their faces are impassive as they lock the door behind them.  He is on the bed in a second, his face pressed against the covers, inhaling deeply, his tongue pressed against the cotton fibres.

He can still taste her. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care that he is kneeling on the stone floor with his face pressed into his bedding; he disengages from the interface, jerking back in the hallway of the Tesselecta, his hands unbuttoning his trousers as fast as he can when they’re shaking this hard. He’s left the sensory interface on – so he can hear if someone enters, so he can still smell the scent of her, and taste her on the cotton underneath the Tesselecta’s tongue.

His erection is released within moments, and he did not lie to her when he told her it would be all but a few swift tugs of his hand, with all of his senses surrounded by her, his eyes closed and the image of her screaming his name beneath his lids. He comes so hard with her name on his lips and he almost blacks out, gasping for air, on his hands and knees in the hallway of the ship.

_xx_

The next time they put him in shackles, he hasn’t seen her for weeks. But this time he is dragged from the tower, and it is not her waiting for his audience.

He’s more than a little disappointed.

But he sees her sooner than he imagines.

_xx_

“Dinner?” He leans against the doorframe of his TARDIS and she glances up from her cross-legged position on her cot.

“Hello, sweetie.” She greets him with a smile, standing up quickly and moving over to the bars of her cell. “Always – will I be needing anything, or is this dinner  _in_?”

He laughs, sonicing the door of her cell open and she grins. “Definitely dinner  _in_. My favourite, for your information.” She brushes past him as she walks toward the TARDIS doors, laughter floating over her shoulder.

“Oh, I  _know_  sweetie.” He whirls and follows her with a frown, shutting the TARDIS door behind him.

“This isn’t your first night is it?” He asks in a fluster and she arches a brow at him in amusement.

“No, were you shooting for that? Dressed like  _that_?” He glances down at his jeans and braces and tweed – adjusts his bowtie before glaring at her.

“What is wrong with what I’m wearing? And  _when_  are you exactly then?” He huffs and moves over to where she is standing by the console, already sending the ship into flight. He glances at the monitor, she’s chosen a pretty area of space he likes to float in for repairs. Or rests. This would be neither, he thinks with a grin.

“Have you done New Las Vegas?” She asks with a grin and he smiles, remembering it.

“Which time?”

“5123.” She amends and he grins and nods. “That’s my last. Five years into my sentence, sweetie. And you had better dress up a sight more than  _that_  for our first night out together. I deserve that much, don’t I?” She arches that impossible brow again and he grins.

“Of course you do, dear. I just came from Area 52, though, and-” He can’t finish the sentence because she is kissing him, her arms wrapping around him and her mouth against his, licking and tugging. He moans, his hands burying themselves in her hair as he pulls her closer. She tastes amazing, as always, and he hasn’t held her like this in what has been months for him and has felt like  _forever_. Time is relative, after all, he thinks as his hands slide down her back, reaching to cup her arse and pull her hips into his as her tongue strokes and swirls around his.

“Mmm,” she hums against his mouth and when they pull apart she is beaming.

“What was that for?”  He grins down at her, his arms still pressing her against him as she continues to smile.

“I haven’t seen post-Utah you for a while sweetie.” She reaches up, pushing his hair back. “Not that it matters really, I mean obviously it’s just – well not  _even_  a piece of paper, not even really  _anything_  but-”

She is rambling, which is rather adorable and out of character for her. “Of course it’s  _something_ , River. It was our wedding – that’s not ‘not even really anything’.” He smiles down at her softly. “My wife.”

She rises to brush another kiss against his mouth, soft and sweet. “I love you.” She whispers the words as she pulls back and he smiles in response.

“I  _know_.” He teases her and she rolls her eyes, pushing away but his arms hold her in place. “Do you remember it all River? Everything that happened in that time line?”

She leans in close enough that when she speaks her lips brush against his ear. “Of course I do, sweetie.” She breathes the words out and he shivers, gripping her waist tightly.

“Excellent. Come along, wife.” He releases her, grabbing her hand and all but dragging her up the stairs and down the corridor leading to their bedroom.

“Doctor,” River stumbles along behind him, laughing. “What on Earth are you doing?” He pulls her into their room, shutting the door with a snap and shrugging his tweed off, tossing it on a chair. She smiles, watching as he undoes his bowtie with a quick jerk, and she catches it when he tosses it toward the jacket. He is unbuttoning his shirt and she licks her lips and grins. “Eager are we?”

“Four months River – four  _months_  in that timeline of seeing you almost every day and never being able to  _touch_  you. Plus the three months it took me to find you in the first place. And then the weeks after that last time-” Her eyes darken at the memory and her mouth opens. “Yeah. Remember that do you?” His braces get yanked down and he pulls his shirt off, dropping it on the floor. His hands undo and yank down his trousers and pants, kicking out of his shoes and he looks at her. “I’ve been imagining this since then – where’s the handcuffs?” She swallows, her cheeks flush and she shakes her head.

“Use the bowtie.” She holds up the silk fabric in her hands and he nods, holding out his wrists. She looks down in confusion. “For you?”

“For me.” He confirms, and her grin grows wicked as she wraps the fabric around his wrists tightly, tying it off. Pulling him by the wrists she leads him over to their bed, and he stretches out, holding his wrists above his head as she ties the tie to the wrought iron of their headboard.

She leans over him with a smug smile, pressing a kiss to his mouth, all tongues and teeth. He moans his hips rising from the bed as she pulls away. “So what’s the plan then hmm?” Her tank top is pulled over her head and tossed aside and she isn’t wearing a bra at all, something that causes his hips to twitch.

“Do you remember everything I asked you to do?” Her eyes meet his and she shucks her pants and knickers off next, before standing, fully, gloriously naked next to the bed and just out of his reach.

“Mmmhmm,” she hums her agreement, climbing up on the bed and swinging a leg over his prone form so she is sitting astride his chest. His hearts are pounding in his chest and sometimes he wonders if his brilliant wife can read his mind. Well. He  _knows_  she can, if she wants to – but she seems to so constantly know his wants and needs. “So somebody discovered he likes to be tied down, hmm, sweetie?”

“We knew that River,” he looks at her and she grins in affirmation. “Sometimes I like to be the one tying the knots – but that’s not – I liked watching you like that. That’s what I want. If I can touch you, I will and I don’t want that – I want to  _watch_.”

“Oh my Doctor,” her voice is soft and she spreads her knees, pressing one to either side of his shoulders, until she is sitting good and forward on his chest. One hand traces along her clavicle, down over her sternum and breasts, and she sucks on the fingers of her other hand, pushing it down and leaning back in front of him. She is  _right there_. If he sticks his tongue out far enough he is sure he could taste her. He bites his tongue instead, and watches her fingers slide into the nest of curls and spread herself open. His mouth waters at the sight, as he watches her tease and torment herself and him into a frenzy, with expert flicks of her fingers over sensitized flesh.  He whinges, straining against his restraints and she laughs above him, deep and husky and the sound runs all through him. “Talk.” She commands and he complies.

He tells her everything she is doing to him, the sight of her, how swollen with need her flesh is, how he wants to suck on her until she flies apart above him, but first he wants to see her quiver at her own hand. He wants to see the rush of liquid as she orgasms, and he wants it to flow over him, marking him with her scent. She moans, her head tipped back and her finger s working furiously. She pumps them in and out; her moans and cries growing louder. The ends of her hair brush against his straining erection and he nearly comes from that sensation alone, but it’s not enough, even with the vision before him. He tells her he wants to taste her, tells her about how, after she left that day, he’d all but sucked her essence from the sheets as he’d gotten himself off, the taste of her faint on his tongue and the scent of her heavy in the air.

She comes with a shout, and the wetness seeps down his chest, under his chin and before she’s even finished quivering in front of him she sits up, pushing her hips forward and close enough finally and he licks the length of her just once before plunging his tongue deep inside. She moans in delight, and he can still feel the undulations of her orgasm in the muscles wrapped around his tongue and she grinds her hips against his face, pressing down until his nose is applying pressure to her clit as he continues to pump his tongue in and out of her.

He can’t breathe.

He doesn’t care, because he doesn’t need air as much as he needed  _this_.

She writhes above him and he finally pulls his tongue from her, tilting his head just far enough back that the stubble on his chin scrapes over her folds as his teeth scrape gently over her clit, his tongue flicking over it like mad. She shouts, and she is coming again and he smiles through it, licking her gently and pressing soft kisses there. “Oh good lord.” She is panting as she moves off his chest, pausing to lean down, her breasts brushing against his chest as she kisses him roughly, licking at his tongue eagerly.

He moans into her mouth and she pulls back with a grin, before reversing position and swinging her leg over his shoulders again, but this time she is facing him, and he chokes as she settles back, licking the length of his erection from tip to root. “River!” He shouts as her tongue reaches even further, tracing his testicles randomly before she opens her mouth wide and sucks one into her mouth gently. He whinges, because it feels  _amazing_  but she’s leaned too far forward for him to reach her, so instead she is bent over in front of him, her rounded bottom bouncing in his face and her still swollen, glistening folds below. She sucks on the other testicle for a moment; her teeth just scraping in a way that makes his entire body shiver all over. She moves back up and he smiles, burying his face within her warmth once more and licking, slow and thorough, keeping time with her own tongue, running along the shaft of his erection.

When she swallows the length of him in her mouth, his shout is muffled against her skin, but he bites gently at her clit in retaliation and her hips buck backwards as her head moves up and down, faster and faster. He has to pause, turning his face into the soft skin of her thigh as she varies her speed and pacing. Her mouth is hot and wet around him and oh god, he’s  _missed_  her. Her pace is becoming too much though, and he can feel his testicles drawing up, all sensation in his groin getting tighter and tighter.  “River, River, please,  _please_ ,” his voice is muffled against the skin of her inner thigh and she does not stop or even slow down so he bites her there, none too gently.

She yelps and jumps away from him, her mouth releasing him with a wet squelch and she turns to glare over her shoulder. He shakes his head, “I need to be inside of you.” Her gaze softens and she sits up, doesn’t turn around, but raises her hips over his and sinks down with a soft sigh. She’s riding him backwards, and he is presented with the smooth expanse of her back, the wicked curve of her hip where it meets her waist and he wants to slide his hands there, and grip her tightly, draw her over him again and again until they are both screaming. He moans, and she looks back over her shoulder with a flirtatious smile, causing his breathing to quicken.

She moves over him; slow at first, but faster and faster, her hands gripping the tops of his thighs as she rides him. His hips thrust up, trying to bury himself deeper and deeper within her, and his hands strain the fabric of the bowtie, one end brushing against his wrist and- he starts, looking up to his tied hands for a moment, and  _of course_  – his naughty girl. He lifts his head, grasping the loose end in his teeth and tugging, and the entire thing slips undone with ease.

His hands move to her waist, gripping her there and she shivers in delight. He sits up, pressing his chest to her back, and she continues to rise and fall, crouched on her feet above him, and his hands roam over her skin, fingers trailing down her throat, over her shoulders, across her breasts where he pauses to tweak her nipples, pressing kisses into the side of her throat as she moves above him. The Atraxi, all the Daleks and a legion of Cybermen could burst into the room right this moment, and he isn’t sure he’d even notice. She feels  _so_  good around him.  She falls back against him, her chest heaving and she lifts herself off of him before turning in his arms and sinking back down into his lap, her legs wrapping around his back. She stills over him for a moment and he kisses her, his hands in her hair, gripping tightly. She moans into his mouth, licking at him as his hands map the surface of her back before gripping her arse and lifting her enough that he can pitch them both forward – or backward in her case until she lands on her back with a soft thump, and he is above her, her legs  _still_  around his waist.

“Such talent.” Her brow arches and he grins, kissing her once more as his hands trailed down between them to grip her hips tightly.

“I aim to please,” he speaks when he pulls back, and he begins to  _move_ then – none of this maddeningly slow pace she’d been setting, he pumps in and out of her, fast and hard, his pelvic bone grinding against her clit with every downward thrust and she was soon writhing and moaning beneath him, her hands sliding along his sweat slicked back, nails biting and scratching. He buries his face by her throat, inhaling the scent of her deeply, one hand sliding up to cup her breast. “River,” he whispers her name into her skin and she grips him tighter, tighter and tighter around him until the edges of his vision darken. “Please.” He begs her and she slides a hand up to the back of his neck, pulling his face to hers.

His forehead to her temple and suddenly everything is amplified, he can feel her skin and her mind, her love on a never ending loop in his mind and he convulses above her. She’s  _so_  close, he can feel it and he pushes all of his desire, his longing and want and  _need_  and love into her mind.  She spasms around him, coming with a shout, and he is nanoseconds behind her, chanting her name like a prayer as he lets the orgasm wash over both of them.

When he becomes aware of himself again, he is curled into her side, his face buried in her curls, a content smile on his face. “Don’t ever do that again.” He scolds in a whisper and she laughs, her voice low and tired in his ear.

“What? Stop time and nearly tear the universe apart? I think I can safely assure you that I learned my lesson, honey.” Her hand strokes along his arm and he shakes his head fiercely.

“No, don’t ever leave me alone like that for that long. I couldn’t bear it.” He lifts his head, brushing her hair back with and soft smile. “What have you done to me, River Song?”

She smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek, sinking back down. “Loved you.”

“More than anyone in the universe?” He is teasing her but her face is grave and she nods, her hand reaching up to brush against his cheek.

“More than the universe itself, my love.” She admits this softly and he swallows heavily.

“I know the feeling.”

_xx_

Amy and Rory will forever think that he saw River for the first time there, in that pyramid.

But some things are only meant for he and River to know.

And no one keeps secrets so well as them.


End file.
